


What History Remembers

by Hartling



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hartling/pseuds/Hartling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4 scenes throughout the various stages of completion of Solas's mural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What History Remembers

When she opened the door and entered the room for the first time, Solas had his back to her. He stood in the centre of the circle, his arms folded across his chest as he gazed at the smooth, high walls, flickering bare against the firelight. He heard the wooden door swing open and her soft steps on the stone below, but his mind was focused.

The footsteps stopped, but she hadn’t spoken.

Solas was too aware of Lavellan standing behind him regardless of the distance, her presence a soft hum of energy that bore into the back of his mind. So he turned around.

“Inquisitor,” he smiled, faintly, forcing his lips into shape. He couldn’t help but wish that she would speak first, give him purpose, otherwise he felt at a horrible loss at how to compose himself. Solitude would often do that.

“This is quite the space.” she commented, turning her eyes to the lofty ceiling that twisted all the way up past their view. Her voice echoed off the walls, proving her point. 

“Indeed.” Solas laughed, studying her expression as her eyes grew wide, searching the space. “I have plans for it.” 

“You certainly picked the right spot. The library is just up there, isn’t it? Dorian mentioned something to me about a library.”

“I imagine so.” He walked curtly toward and past Lavellan, brushing past her briefly to reach his solitary desk in the centre of the room. There she watched him idly move aside a handful of papers, Solas himself not really sure what he was looking for as she continued to speak.

“I’ve been running around Skyhold all morning, a fresh empty keep like this doesn’t come without a hundred things to worry about. I’m glad you’ve settled in.”

There was a moment of silence as she stood behind his desk, his back to her, and then before he could stop her, she had reached through the gap between his elbow and his side, choosing a paper to thread through and to her eyes. He turned as she did so.

“Inquisitor-“

He watched Lavellan’s bright eyes as they danced across the paper she held up.

“You’re an artist?” She asked, her expression open and eager as she looked back at him.

He met her gaze, his face close to hers as he had stepped forward to take the paper from her. He looked down to her hands, where she held his sketches and plans for the walls that encircled them.   

“I suppose so. I… document. Moments such as these will form potent memories, and I feel compelled to record them.”

“you’re compelled to record…” Lavellan flipped the paper over in her hand, making sense of the images rendered on its surface in charcoal. “… is this me? You want to document me?” She asked hesitantly.

“In a way, yes-” Solas replied somewhat sheepishly, eyes avoiding Lavellan’s. He knew the sketch in particular she was looking at, though fortunately for the both of them it remained unfinished. “As inquisitor it is your actions that will decide how this unfolds, and all this—” he gestured to the blank walls, “—will be what history remembers. How could I not include you?”

She returned the paper to the collection on Solas’ desk after a brief moment of silence that left the great room in a comforting, echoey hum. “You’ll have to show me when they’re complete.” she smiled.

“Perhaps.” he smiled back.

 

——

 

The door opened and Solas turned eagerly from his desk to face Lavellan as she padded toward him. Her expression was of wonderful confusion, and he could not help but to smile. 

“Sleep well?” he asked softly, knowing it was enough.

“When I asked to speak to you somewhere, I didn’t think we’d be doing it in the Fade” She mused, her tone lighthearted. As she paused, her eyebrows raised and her gaze drifted slightly, in a mockery of disbelief, “or for that matter… _doing it_ in the Fade…”

Solas laughed, a sudden and warm sound that bounced off the painted walls around them, and made a blush creep up Lavellan’s neck. He regained his control quickly as if the sound had never been uttered, surprised at his own looseness, although the shadow of a smile remained on his lips to prove it had been there. There was a pause, before he chose his words carefully.

“I apologise. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.”

It was indeed impulsive. Solas knew that Lavellan had the dream to blame, as she was not used to walking in dreams as he was. Her movements and decisions would have seemed foggy to her, as if blurring together at the moment they were made — but Solas was in control. He furrowed his eyebrows. He was _usually_ in control. He could not help but wonder if her actions in their dream were clearer to her than he gave her credit for — for her own good, he hoped with a heavy heart that they weren’t.

“Don’t apologise, Solas” she eased, her tone edged with a sincerity that he had not expected.

“I’m not often thrown by things that happen in dreams, you’ll have to forgive me. Things have always been easier for me in the Fade, and I’ve…” he found himself struggling for words, which flustered him just enough for it to show.

“I understand. I’d be happy to give you any time you need to think about this, if it would help.”

“Thank you.” he breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment they stood there, eyes met, and Solas found himself … at peace.

 

After this, Lavellan turned slightly to face the wall behind him, lifting her face to scan the mural.

“This is Haven, isn’t it? You’ve added so much.”

“Yes, not quite an accurate a recreation as the dream, I’m afraid.” he replied softly. She took a step forward so that her lithe frame stood in the shadow of Corypheus that Solas had pictured on the wall. The torchlight flickered over the image, each controlled line and section of colour beautifully forming a familiar harrowing scene — and the atmosphere of the room shifted. Solas watched as the expression on Lavellan’s face changed from one of open amicability to worry. He felt his own mirror hers, and he found himself aching to step forward, to place a hand on her back. She sighed, lifting a hand to her mouth where her thumb rested on her lower lip — where Solas caught himself watching perhaps _too_ closely. His gaze returned the green orb he had placed between dark painted hands, and then to the floor. Would she look at him the same way? _Ir abelas_ , the things he could not tell her.

 

_It’s better this way_ , he told himself. It had to be, it had to be.

 

——

 

“Looks like you’re running out of canvas.”

Lavellan’s voice broke the silence, commenting on the near-completion of Solas’ walls. It was true, the rotunda now flowed with dark colours in impressive shapes, moving from scenes of victory and hope through darkness and despair. Solas could not answer, and he felt a pit growing in his stomach — she was right, it was almost done, and it was almost over. He feared for what that meant.

 

She bent over the desk, studying a sketch Solas had lying on the desk of a tall, hooded elven man. 

“Abelas” she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek. He stepped down from the ladder where he had been stood, solemnly smoothing paint across the wall to form the shape of a large eluvian. He set the pigment aside before walking over to her. He had spent the evening on that ladder, transforming his frustration and sadness into smoothed lines, and he could not understand what company the inquisitor wished of him at this time. He watched her face, aware of the worry in the eyes that were usually so bright. He knew that much of what she thought was true had been changed that day at the temple, and despite his pride, despite everything, he felt for her. Solas felt for her losses, her worries, and her fears. As he watched her idly move papers aside on his desk, he admired her resolve. If she wasn’t alone, then neither was he.

 

Lavellan picked up a chunk of charcoal from the desk, beginning to scribble something onto the paper’s surface, next to his. “There,” she proclaimed, forcing a bittersweet smile from her lips, though there was still something heavy in both of their eyes. Lavellan had drawn Morrigan, or at least attempted to do so, ridiculously simplified and childish next to Solas’ skilled figures and recognisable only by the shape of her hair and staff. Solas laughed softly, but freely, leaning over the desk and closer into Lavellan. He took the charcoal from her hand, his movements feeling slow and honeyed every time any part of his body moved close to her. In a few sure movements, his addition to the drawing was complete — a dwarf, Varric, looking horribly confused. He lifted his head ever so slightly in expectation of Lavellan’s reaction. She grinned,

“Well then. I guess that settles it. It’s a good thing you’re in charge of the mural.” 

She had barely finished her sentence when she straightened her body up, lifting her gaze to find that Solas had risen with her, his hand resting on the desk an inch from hers and their bodies almost as close. He blinked twice, painfully aware of the softness of Lavellan’s face so close to his own as the mischievous smile drained from her face and her heart quickened. His eyes dropped to her lips, and then they were on his.

 

He did not want to be alone. _Vhenan_ , he forced himself to push his fear and his doubt from his mind and raised his arms to wrap himself around her. He leaned into her body, trying to burn the warmth of her lips into his memory. She had given him hope in ways that he never would have imagined, and no amount of pigment on the walls could show it.

 

——

 

The inquisitor could still hear the celebrations floating through the night and into her open windows. As others sang and drank and laughed throughout the keep, she lay upon twisted sheets, unable to sleep. Corypheus was defeated, the breach sealed, the world in a brief moment of peace. But the moonlight crept in and she lay awake, thinking only of loss. As the sounds began to drift into silence, she found herself wandering from her quarters, down the stairs and through the great hall, until she was opening the wooden door that took her to the circular room. 

 

She stood here, feeling the eyes he had crafted bore into her, feeling the mural _watching._ Lavellan crumbled,bracing her arms against the desk, bending over it in frustration and grief. When she could bear to open her eyes again, the contents on its surface caught her attention — while there lay a neat pile of books and letters to one side of the desk, a collection of loose papers shuffled ever so slightly in the draft. She picked a few up, studying their contents in the dancing firelight. Upon their surfaces were Solas’ drawings, familiar to her in their steady shapes. She glanced over collections of solid templars and shadowed demons, until she rested upon one. Pictured in charcoal was her own face, smooth in a relaxed sleep. Her hand resting was upon her torso, the anchor depicted as a bloom of bright flowers that fell around her; not a weapon, a tool, or a burden — but growth. The realisation dawned on her that Solas had drawn this while she slept during her first days at Haven, his depiction suggesting a beauty in her curse that Lavellen could not fathom.

She clutched the image, letting her chin fall to her chest as she wept. The shadowy paintings watched her in silence, she could feel their gaze but she could not meet it. Solas had documented her achievements, her losses, those whose lives she had changed, and he had shown her who she was through his eyes.

What did she mean to him? _Ar suledin nadas_. The things he could not tell her.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to have more fluff in here for all our sakes but I'm a big baby and I can't bring myself to write much about kissing 8)


End file.
